According to Wikipedia – the world’s most trusted source – there have been less than ten Frosted Flakes flavor variants in North America since its inception in 1952, so you can understand why it took 64 years for Kellogg to sprinkle a few marshmallows in.

Frosted Flakes with Marshmallows.

It’s so simple, yet so necessary. I think I’ve subconsciously always wanted these to exist. Why wouldn’t there be Frosted Flakes with Marshmallows?

I’m sure some of you skeptics are thinking, “Meh. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Didn’t you ever mix two cereals together when you were a kid? I still do that. I could write a book about the best cereals to mix together. Dare me. Dare me to write that book. I’ll write that book so hard!

Threats aside, I don’t think I need to go into much detail about Frosted Flakes. At this point, you should know all about the sugary corn flakes. They’re literally sugar coated Corn Flakes and one of the most iconic cereals on Earth.

Tony the Tiger is one of the most recognizable marketing mascots ever, up there with Mickey Mouse, Ronald McDonald, and every child’s favorite, Progressive Flo. Just in case anyone was wondering, the box notes that Frosted Flakes is indeed the official cereal of Tony the Tiger. Thanks for confirming our lifelong suspicions, Kellogg.

They look like hot chocolate-style marshmallows. Texturally, they are pretty much what you expect from a cereal marshmallow. They have a nice sticky crisp, if that makes sense.

It’s hard to get too excited about the appearance. This is a no-frills cereal, and annoying people tell me you eat with your eyes first. They could have at least made them little tiger paws or something. Instead, it’s just a boring bowl of whiteish-yellow flakes and little rock marshmallows devoid of color.

The marshmallows have a really good crisp that gets immediately overtaken once you crunch them along with the cereal flakes. Frosted Flakes is a cereal that loses crispness in milk quickly, so after a couple spoonfuls, you’re left with soggy flakes and slimy marshmallows. That being said, the after-milk was the same as I remember. It’s like mixing five tablespoons of sugar in a glass of milk.

I never thought of Frosted Flakes as a “without milk” cereal, but I think these could be a nice starter kit for a top notch snack mix. Throw in some honey roasted peanuts, M&M’s and pretzels, and we’re on to something. I may buy another box and give this a shot.

I consider Frosted Flakes a good “if they’re on sale” purchase. They’ve always been a 7 out of 10 cereal to me, and I don’t think I can give these a different score. The marshmallows didn’t really change the taste, and barely provided a different texture. I could hold that against them, but why bother? It was still a satisfying bowl of cereal.

I’m sure you weren’t expecting this cereal to reinvent the wheel, so I think you’ll like ’em. If you love Frosted Flakes, give ’em a whirl. Now, who wants to start a petition with me to get Banana Frosted Flakes back on shelves?

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Toast is so en vogue right now. You’ve got your avocado toast, your restaurants that only serve toast, and your beer made from toast. Hell, at this point, you’d half expect toast to start singing “My Lovin’ (You’re Never Gonna Get It).”

Toast wasn’t always the critical darling it is today. For years, it perched precariously on the side of breakfast platters everywhere, only there to sop up the remnants of runny yolks (or last night’s bad decisions, if you know what I mean).

But then, in 1984, the cereal wizards at General Mills introduced Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and the rest was history. What then followed were years of toast cereal offshoots like French Toast Crunch and Peanut Butter Toast Crunch, which led me to believe that General Mills should just change their name to “That Cereal Company That Only Makes Toast Themed Cereal.”

Enter Strawberry and Blueberry Tiny Toast cereals to prove my point.

In what is apparently General Mills’ first new cereal brand in fifteen years (I know, I was just as surprised as you), Strawberry and Blueberry Tiny Toast cereals were developed to have an “all-family appeal.” I’m not sure where General Mills finds their test families, but I imagine that the folks who thought this cereal would appeal to everyone are the same folks who think Pop-Tarts are a good source of your five-a-day.

Upon opening the box, the tiny toast cereals have a scent reminiscent of fruit and cream instant oatmeal. While it’s totally artificial, it brings back memories of all of the times in college I didn’t have the time or the initiative to make a more nutritious breakfast. Then upon pouring it out, I was greeted by an adorable bowl full of tiny pieces of toast. We’re talking Honey, I Shrunk the Kids tiny here. Rick Moranis would be proud.

The look of the cereal is a different story, as the specks of fruit on each piece of tiny toast look a little more like measles and mold than anything natural. If Cinnamon Toast Crunch is the “taste you can see,” this cereal is more like the “taste you should see a doctor about.”

As a cereal purist, I first tried both cereals sans milk. Upon scooping out my first bite, I noticed the toasts had a dry and dusty appearance, which was affirmed when they immediately dissolved on my tongue. While the texture isn’t the most pleasant (think arid desert), the taste is much better, with both giving off muffin-like oat flavors mixed with the fruit.

Tired of the Sahara-like climate inside my mouth, I drowned the cereals in milk. Let me tell you – Milk. Is. A. Game. changer. The milk immediately fluffs up the tiny toasts, giving them a more pleasant appearance and mouthfeel, and making the cereal much more enjoyable to eat. It’s like that Lubriderm commercial where they apply it to an alligator – it works that well.

Overall, the Tiny Toast cereals are a pretty good, albeit artificial, addition to your balanced breakfast. Let’s just hope that General Mills doesn’t come out with a crappy sequel.

If you were to put a gun to my head and demand I rank every single Cheerios flavor in history, my first thought would be, why are you willing to kill me over something as trivial as one man’s opinion on a toasted oat cereal?

And then I’d proceed to rattle off the definitive guide to 22 flavors.

Apple Cinnamon Cheerios would be up there. So would Peanut Butter Multigrain Cheerios. And, being the purist that I am, I wouldn’t forget the golden bee of Honey Nut Cheerios.

Taken off shelves sometime in the past three years, but long adored by adults and kids alike, the sweet strawberry notes of the O’s still haunt me. Yeah, I could get Fruity Cheerios and just eat the red ones, but it’s not the same. If Cheerios can give spelt, quinoa, and other ancient grains their own box, then America’s favorite berry should have its own flavor.

Thankfully, General Mills has finally taken note, albeit in a limited edition role with the new Strawberry Cheerios.

Just writing “limited edition” makes me want to sift through pages of Google search results for a viable answer to “how to freeze time” so I can endlessly replay the moment when my milky spoonful of red-freckled oat rings embraced my taste buds like a cold strawberry shake on a warm spring day.

Yes, Strawberry Cheerios are that good.

Those who fondly recall Berry Burst Cheerios will be filled with poetic memories of the subtly sweet strawberry flavor, oatey crunch, and sophisticated tart aftertaste of the bygone classic. Eaten dry, the new Strawberry Cheerios have an ideal combination of strawberry flavor (emphasis on the straw, as opposed to just vague berry; although, now that I think about it, don’t think about eating straw. That’s freaking disgusting) and wholesome Cheerios taste.

There’s a wonderfully sturdy crunch in each oat ring — more crunch than the standard Cheerio — but unlike past Cheerios flavors, Strawberry Cheerios has no identifiable defect. Gone are styrofoamy freeze-dried fruit; banished are fake palm kernel oil yogurt coatings; and exiled are the annoying original Cheerios that taste like insipid islands of plainness amidst an ocean of strawberry islands.

They also get better in milk.

The strong strawberry tartness in the aftertaste dissipates, replaced by mellow yet sweet flavor that, when enjoyed in the presence of whole milk, takes on notes of milkshake or ice cream. The gluten-free oat rings stay crunchy even through a long soak, slowly giving away their sweetness to a light red bowl of pure strawberry milk.

If you’re going to put a gun to my head and demand I give you one slight suggestion of improvement for the new Strawberry Cheerios, I’d admit they could be a little sweeter, since I recently figured out how awesome macerated strawberries taste. But it’s hard to nitpick, especially with how accurate Cheerios nailed the strawberry flavor. Are Strawberry Cheerios the best of the now 23 Cheerios varieties that have been created? It’s tough to say, but if you’re going to demand an answer from me, I’d say they’re up there, and are probably the purest, tastiest strawberry cereal on the market.

Before I start, I just wanna give Post props for keeping the Flintstones alive in the zeitgeist.

Before I continue, I just want to look the word “zeitgeist” up in the dictionary as I have no idea if I’m using it properly.

Okay, I’m still not sure. Fun word to say though. Zeit-geist.

Do kids these days even know who Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm are? I suspect they do thanks to the Pebbles line of cereals, Push Pops, and, of course, Flintstones vitamins. If we’re to believe the marketing they are taken daily by ten million kids strong, and groooowing. That being said, they’ve been playing the same commercials since the 70s. My guess is they’re at much less these days, and sloooowing.

Fruity Pebbles are one of my favorite cereals of all time, and I don’t believe they get their proper respect.

Far be it from me to say a cereal that has been on shelves for 45 years is underrated, but they’re underrated. Just look at them, they exist to brighten your morning. I know they aren’t much different than Froot Loops or Trix, but I’ve always found their size and shape more appealing, and their colors just seem to POP more.

Fruity Pebbles are the closest thing to candy you can eat for breakfast. That classic sugary, fruity mixture is something I’ve been enjoying for 20+ years. Now you’re telling me Post threw some Lucky Charms-esque marshmallows into the equation? Bring it.

Have you ever had a Fruity Pebbles treat? If so, to borrow a pretentious term I learned from Top Chef, this cereal is basically a “deconstructed Fruity Pebbles treat” and it’s fantastic.

The marshmallows are basically the same flavor and texture as the clovers, stars, and pints of Guinness(?) you know and love from Lucky Charms. When eaten dry, they have a nice crunch. When soaked in milk, they develop a delicious slime. When mixed with Fruity Pebbles, they form a match made in heaven.

I can wax nostalgic about the taste of Fruity Pebbles all day, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the smell. Fruity Pebbles are the best smelling cereal on Earth. I’m not sure I even know how to describe it. It’s like opening a box of Nerds – a bit fruity, definitely sugary, and you just know you’re in for a good time.

Just to squash my curiosity I tried each individual cereal color to see if they tasted different. They didn’t. I’m not sure if they claim flavors, but each color tastes the same. Myth busted?

Fruity Pebbles are a cereal that gets soggy quick, but I never let it get to that point. I Kobayashi’d each bowl before they even had a chance.

I’m not much of a cereal milk lover, but I did my yabba-dabba-due diligence here and drank the yellowy after-milk. While I clearly love the cereal, the liquid was a bit too sugary for my liking. I guess I gotta draw the line somewhere.

Getting back to the marshmallow shapes, nothing about the aquatic theme of this cereal makes sense. Maybe I need to brush up on my Flintstones lore (and brush my teeth after all that sugar), but how often did Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm dive into the ocean for turtles, starfish, giant clams, jellyfish, and Sharkasauruses?

And how is Sharkasaurus the smallest marshmallow?

Explain that, Post.

Explain that, Hanna-Barbera.

It doesn’t matter. The marshmallows could have been shaped like (use your gross imagination) and I still would’ve devoured this cereal because I love Fruity Pebbles.

If the early 2000s taught us nothing else as a society, it was that transposing the letter S with the letter Z in a word made you instantly credible and cool. LOL, once trite and overused, took on new life thanks to LOLZ, while I would argue that Anheuser-Busch owes its entire advertising success of the decade to the phonetic pronunciation of WAZZUP.

Thankfully, we as a civilization have largely moved past this momentary lapse in linguistics. Well, everyone except a dedicated group of cereal lovers who’ve helped bring back Smorz Cereal.

It’s been four years since Smorz left our shelves, and to be honest, I have yet to circle the five steps of grief; mostly because I thought the original Smorz had some room for improvement. Now I’m not saying I disliked Smorz — as far as chocolate and graham cereals go, it was good as a snacking cereal — but the marshmallows had a funky artificiality and lighter-than-Lucky Charms ‘mallow give that made them taste stale after a few days.

Nevertheless, as interweb excitement grew for the return of an extinct specimen of chocolate and graham, I was hopeful this newest version of Smorz would combine everything I loved about the original Smorz, as well as everything that I hoped a mainstream s’mores cereal should have.

When it comes to the chocolate and graham squares, the rebirth of Smorz lived up to its predecessor and to that campfire taste. Ok, so it’s not exactly a “rich chocolate” cereal coating, but this is Kellogg’s, not Ghirardelli. The squares have a pleasant malty milk chocolate flavor that’s highly addictive when you snack on them, like a graham-flavored version of Chex Muddy Buddies.

The first few times I crunched on the squares I was disappointing in the graham flavor. It’s definitely muted in milk, and not honey glazed like Golden Grahams. But when eaten out of hand the flavor is mellow and slightly whole-wheaty, like that moment you bite into an actual s’more.

But then something happened: my mouth met the marshmallows.

If I wasn’t sold on the marshmallows in the old Smorz, then I’m selling off like a oil stockbroker with these marshmallows. Eaten dry, they have a dusty stiffness and chalky, sugary flavor. Not a sweet flavor, a sugary flavor. It’s a flavor I remember well from candy cigarettes I once bought from the ice cream man when I was 10 years old. It is not a yummy flavor, especially in milk, where the saccharine sweetness and candy cigarette aftertaste does a disservice to the synergy of chocolate and graham. What’s more, they don’t taste toasted. What is the lesson to take from this? Smoking is not a yummy flavor.

For the most part, I consider myself a cereal populist. Even though I was a bit ambivalent toward the original Smorz, past cereal resurrections like French Toast Crunch had me excited to step back into the world of bowls we thought were extinct.

But in the case of the 2016 version of Smorz cereal, I’m wondering if we shouldn’t just let bygones be bygones. The chocolate and graham squares are definitely good — probably better than I remember — especially as a snack. But the marshmallows bring the cereal down, and, like transposing “Z” for “S,” are unnecessary and potentially maddening.